


An Even Trade

by lionessvalenti



Category: Sleep No More - Punchdrunk
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene, Protection Magic, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:19:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12407541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: Boy Witch has a trade to make with the Porter.





	An Even Trade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Synergic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synergic/gifts).



He stands in the doorway, his dark eyes gleaming through dim light of the McKittrick's dusty lobby. The Porter waits behind the desk. The Porter always waits. He waits for him. Waits for Hecate. Waits for the ghosts that haunt these walls.

He saunters across the room, the ghosts parting the way for him. He presses a finger onto the bell, though the Porter stands before him. The _ding_ echoes off the wall of keys. It echoes off the remains of the Porter's soul. The soul has been ripped and torn and damaged, making the same movements time after time. Never changing anything.

The Porter straightens his back. Raises his chin. He waits.

The witch reaches into his jacket and pulls a red thread from his interior pocket. He tugs at it until it full retrieved, revealing a small brass talisman in the shape of a man at the end.

"How?" the Porter asks. His voice is quiet. It rasps, dry and unused. He reaches out to touch it, but the witch pulls it away.

He should have no business with a talisman of those sorts. It should repulse him, burn his skin, keep the wearer safe from Hecate and from those who oppose her. The witch should not have it.

He smiles, and it's so beautiful and wicked that it makes the Porter's knees go weak. He is so weak. With his other hand, the witch reaches out and touches the Porter's cheek with one finger, dragging it torturously slow down the plane of his jaw.

"Your ring," he says.

The Porter's eyes widen. He keeps gifts for the ghosts, an offering of sorts. It has no power, it is simply a bauble. A reminder. One that disappears and reappears with every repeating motion. "Why?"

The witch's smile fades. His eyes narrow. "Never ask me why," he says. His voice is like silk, but sharp as a razor's edge.

The Porter nods and his stomach sinks. He takes a step away, and moves out from behind the front desk. He leans carefully out into the lobby, as if the witch may have vanished like the ghosts do, sweeping in and out in a trail of fury. 

He's still there, the talisman dangling from his finger.

Trembling, the Porter holds out his hand to the witch.

He smiles again. He moves closer and takes the Porter's hand. The witch pulls him close and inhales deeply.

The Porter shudders beneath his touch, his closeness, and the heat of his body. He pulls at the witch, leads him to the office. The room holds a quiet hum and the Porter's secrets. Reluctantly, he releases the witch's hand and steps up onto a chair to retrieve the ring from his cardboard box.

He drops back onto the floor and faces the witch. He holds out the ring, and the witch takes it between his thumb and forefinger. He inspects it carefully, his dark gaze taking in the simple brass as if it could somehow be flawed, before tucking it into his pocket.

The witch lifts the string of red and places it around your neck. The talisman gleams against the Porter's tie. "For your protection." He looks over his shoulder at the ghosts watching them from the doorway. "From them."

It isn't them the Porter needs protecting from, but he'll take it. "Thank you."

The witch touches a single finger to the Porter's cheek before turning on a heel and pushing his way through the ghosts. Some of them follow him. Other stay and stare at the Porter.

The Porter touches the talisman and it doesn't feel special, but to him, it's everything.

And then. And then. The ding of the bell.

The Porter tucks the talisman beneath his shirt and straightens his tie. It's back to business as usual in the McKittrick.


End file.
